


Get Together, Right Now

by SittingOnACornflake



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Or More Like, also sorry to the people who know/live in liverpool, anyway george and ringo are so in love, because i was craving a sandwich, established relationship for starrison, everyone is pan or bi and everything is happy, getting together for mclennon, happy valentine's day, my tags are messy again i can feel it, paul and george's friendship is zdzdjfk, set in 2021 but with no you know what, they go to subway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SittingOnACornflake/pseuds/SittingOnACornflake
Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, but George and Ringo have better things to do than exchanging love cards or going to the cinema.Today is the perfect day to make Paul and John finally get together.
Relationships: George Harrison & Paul McCartney, George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25
Collections: Peace & Love Mini Fest





	Get Together, Right Now

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Rufusrant and CelesteFitzgerald for organizing this!!! You're both amazing <3
> 
> It's the first time in my life that I like Valentine's day aaand I think I was a bit too enthusiastic because this turned out quite long.

George has almost reached his destination when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t stop walking as he takes it out of his jeans pocket.

It’s a selfie from Ringo. His carefully combed hair shines in the cool February sunlight and is smile at the camera, making his typical peace and love sign. It’s clear that he’s still in the bus; there’s an old lady two rows away who is squinting at the lens.

George smiles broadly, quickly typing a _you look dapper, he’s gonna love it_ before stuffing it back in his pocket. He only walks on for a few more minutes before stopping in front of a house. It looks just like any other in the street, and yet. One of its occupants has no idea of what is going to happen. George can’t wait for it to happen. He’s been planning this with Ringo for so long. Well, maybe not so long – but even two weeks can seem like forever in some situations, _especially this one._ He takes out his phone again and calls Ringo who answers immediately.

“I’m there. You?”

“Just got off the bus,” his boyfriend answers. “I’ll be at John’s in a few.”

“Perfect. Only two hours and all our problems will be solved.”

They’ve gone through their plan already, but George just _knows_ as if they were video calling that Ringo is grimacing.

“I’m sure it won’t take so long,” Ringo objects as if prompted by George’s thought. “Oh … wait, gotta cross a road.”

For a few seconds, all George is able to hear is a shuffling noise and a horn blast. “What did you do?” George chuckles when Ringo’s slightly uneven breath is back in his ear.

“It’s not me!” the other defends himself, “there’s a cat that ran out of nowhere and scared the driver.”

“John’s spirit animal then,” George says with a business-like tone. “Anyway, we’ve discussed this. _John_ might be an easy task, but you’re not the one who has to deal with Paul stubborn McCartney. I need these two hours.”

“Mmm. I dare you to do it in less than that,” Ringo’s amused voice replies. “I’ll get you something if you can do it in … say, an hour and a half.”

George, who had wedge the phone between his ear and shoulder and was struggling to open his giant backpack, pauses to consider it.

A little bit of challenge _and_ a surprise as a bonus? Who is he to say no?

“Deal,” he says, not even considering if he’s likely to manage to do it or not.

“Great. See you at twelve love! I’m in front of his house now.”

“Love you,” George says. He hangs up and turns towards the closed door.

It’s only Paul and he now. _Let’s go._

“I’ll get it, Da!” Paul’s voice shouts from inside as soon as he’s knocked on the door.

Seconds later, the door opens on a fully-dressed, I’ve-been-up-for-hours-what-do-you-think Sundays-are-made-for Paul. But George still is very much satisfied with his own entrance; it has the exact effect he wanted. Paul’s mouth falls open as he stares at his friend in disbelief.

George grins and hands him the flowers and chocolate box.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Paul!”

Paul looks down at the flowers. His hands almost reach out for them before folding in front of his chest.

_He’s feeling threatened. Good._ There are only a few occasions on which George likes Paul more than when he finds him _threatening._

“What the fuck is this about?” his friend asks.

George tuts at him. “Language, Paulie. Have you forgotten it’s Valentine’s Day?”

_Oh, George is having so much fun._

“No, I – no, I haven’t. Forgotten,” Paul says, clearly struggling with his words.

He hasn’t had so much trouble to formulate a proper sentence since John took off his shirt unexpectedly the summer before. _That’d be the perfect memory to bring up right now._

“Well then,” George says, voice dripping with honey, “can’t I show you my love on this special day?”

He bats his eyes for good measure. Maybe he overdid it though, because the gesture seems to make Paul snap out of his fascinated horror. He grips George’s wrist and drags him towards the stairs.

“Let’s go to my room. Quick. And stop saying things like this, I don’t want anyone to think we are a c– you know.”

George lets out a laugh, unable to keep silent. Far from being hurtful, Paul’s disgust is scrumptious. “You don’t want to give us a kiss, then?” he asks loudly – or tries to. Paul’s hand quickly leaves his wrists and settles on his mouth, preventing him from finishing his sentence.

“I warn you,” he whisper-shouts, if you don’t wrap up I’ll– okay, you can talk now.”

Paul locks his door and shuts open then window. _It’s freezing in here, what has he been up to?_ George wonders before shaking his head. He’d love to pry into Paul’s little secrets that he has so obviously disturbed, but he has a _timing. Oh god. He’d almost forgotten._ He’s got to get Paul _there._

“And what would you want me to tell you?”

Paul scrunches his nose. “You’re worse than John sometimes.”

_Yes, Paul. That’s exactly where your thoughts are supposed to head to. Keep going._

“That’s a compliment, coming from you,” George thanks him. He can’t resist – he _has_ to bat his eyes again.

Paul downright ignores him. “Are those really for me?”

Georges looks down at the presents. “Of course.”

“You know I don’t like you that way, right?”

_Always honest when it comes to important stuff, that one._

“I’ll remind you that I’m already in a relationship, thank you,” George snorts. _Time to spill the beans._

“Seriously, I don’t get you,” Paul says, clearly not having paid any attention to what he has said. “I tell you, on _accident_ , that I like J– someone, when was it, ten days ago? and then all you can think of is to make a move on me. Why– oh.”

_The information finally reached his brain._

“Yeah, _oh_.”

“But then … why …” Paul repeats, gesturing again towards the presents in George’s hands.

“To be honest, I bought them for you, but I don’t expect you to keep them.”

Paul frowns. _Yes. Think, Paul. Think. Show us you still have brains after hanging out with John for so long._ “You don’t mean I should …” Paul trails off.

“Oh, yes. I think you should.”

George offers him the flowers once again. Paul doesn’t take them. He flops down on his bed instead.

“You’re insane.”

_There we are. The insane part_ , George thinks, taking out his phone just to check the time. Fifteen minutes have gone by, not so bad. No sign from Ringo. He moves to sit next to Paul, gently putting down the flowers and chocolates.

“Just for us to be clear, I’d appreciate if you could voice out _why_ you think I’m insane.”

Paul sighs very loudly and falls backwards on the bed, covering his eyes with one arm. “I could voice _three_ reasons at least. No, wait. Four.”

George kicks off his shoes to sit crossed-legged on the bed, elbows propped on his thighs and chin resting on his hands. Paul groans when he sneaks a peak at him and finds himself being stared at.

“I’m trying to show you I disapprove you and you look more entertained and freaking happy by the minute,” he huffs. “Will you stop that?”

“No. Is it one of the Four Holy Reasons that make me insane?”

“No.”

“Then hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

He _will_ wrap this up in an hour and a half. Paul needs to be rushed a bit.

Another sigh, Paul’s new favourite means of communication.

George is about to repeat his question when Paul unexpectedly seizes the chocolate box between them and shaking it in every direction. George hears the innocent little victims moving about inside it. It’s going to be messy when John opens it.

“First off, _these_. You really believe I’d buy that to anyone in the world?”

George shrugs. “Stop pretending. You’re precisely the kind of guy who’d offer chocolate on Valentine’s day.”

“I’ll act as if you didn’t mean to insult me with this because I’d be damn right. Everyone loves chocolate,” Paul says, “but not _these!_ Never these.”

“What’s wrong with these?” George asks.

He’s friend with Paul, alright. They’ve got years of friendship past them already. Still, he doesn’t get the guy sometimes; Paul looks inexplicably angry right now.

“ _George_ ,” he says, pinching his nose with one hand while still mistreating the poor box with the other, “these are not edible! No one on earth likes them, I don’t even know how the brand manages to sell them!”

“ _I_ like them. Picked them myself.”

“That explains a lot. The people who buy these must be aliens like you.”

“Maybe John likes them, though,” George says.

Oh, how much more patient he is today than any other. Far more than Paul deserves, but George _deserves_ his extra present from Ringo. Plus, he’d like his carefully-crafted plan to work, thank you very much. Ringo and him haven’t gone this far for nothing.

Paul shakes his head.

“Sure?”

Paul nods. George takes the box from his hands, unties the red bow and puts the lid away. The chocolates have moved a bit, just like he expected, but it’s okay. They’re strong little things. He pops one in his mouth.

“One problem solved,” he grins at Paul. “Delicious. Next issue?”

Paul looks disgusted. George would love to take a picture of him right now. He’d post it on Instagram with some caption saying _that’s what a person who doesn’t have good taste looks like_. How many likes would that get?

“Alright, I guess,” Paul says. “Are you going to eat the flowers too?”

George looks down at the bouquet. He puts another chocolate in his mouth before answering.

“What’s wrong with my flowers now?”

“George, they’re red. And they look weird, actually – uh, you cut off all the thorns.”

George fights the urge to swat Paul with the box – not a good idea since it’s open. “They’re red for a reason, you uneducated brat. And I wanted to get you thornless roses, but there weren’t any at the florist’s so I had to cut them off one by one. And I won’t tell you why because you’re tiring. It’s _important_. Just tell me the next reason that make me insane.”

“That’s a reason in itself, just like the fact that you’re emptying that trash-box at lightspeed,” Paul retorts.

_Brat,_ George curses him in his head again. He’d snap at him, he really would. Thankfully the chocolates are here to distract him.

“Third,” Paul says, hiding his head behind both of his arms this time. “Third, I can’t tell John. I won’t. So all you’ve done today is pointless, and I don’t even know why you bother.”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t be together, George! He …”

_Finally_. Paul is pouring his heart out, telling George how great John is, how unworthy of being loved back Paul is. It’s an endless stream of words that are flowing out of Paul’s mouths. _Really fascinating, the amount of bullshit he can utter by the minute_.

“Mmh,” he hums, prompting Paul to go on.

Making sure Paul still can’t see him, checks his phone again. He’s got fifty minutes left … and a text from Ringo.

_John was sleeping. He’s not in the best mood. Wish you were there._

_Good luck,_ George writes in reply. _I wouldn’t describe Paul as cheerful either. Love you though._

He immediately receives a bunch of heart emojis. Smiling, he hides the phone behind his back.

Oh, how he loves Ringo. Much conveniently, Paul has changed topics now. He’s rambling about how much he loves John, and George has to admit it, that part is convincing. It’s heartfelt, or at least it resonates perfectly with the feelings that are blossoming in his chest right now. Replace the name John with Ringo and George would bow before Paul and thank him for the accurate depiction of his own love for his boyfriend.

The selfie he got from Ringo earlier flashes before his eyes. _He’s so handsome with his smiling eyes and his little cheeks and his– everything. I love him. I need to tell him again as soon as I see him._

Right now, though, he should pay attention to Paul. He pats his friend’s thigh.

“I get it, you’re in love. That’s precisely what I want to help you with.”

“But you don’t get it, Geo! John isn’t – he’s not single! I wouldn’t make a move even if I thought I had a– God, what do you take me for?”

There. Paul has come to the core of it. The core of his problem, and more especially the core of George’s plan. And Ringo’s, but right now it’s _his_ time to shine and drop the bomb.

“But John’s single, Paul. Cynthia and he broke up two weeks ago.”

George feels like a true mastermind as Paul reacts exactly how he thought he would. After a few onomatopoeias, he asks for details and George obligingly fills him in. _Yes_ , they parted on good terms; it’s a mutual agreement. _Yes_ , they’re still friends. _No_ , they’re not just taking a break, Cynthia told him so. _Yes_ , George is friend with Cynthia, why is that so hard to believe? _No_ , he doesn’t know why John didn’t tell Paul, and _yes,_ George knows Paul is John’s best friend, he used to be Ringo’s best friend before they got together too _, and he still is now, okay?_ Paul should ask him in person.

“Seems like there’s nothing preventing you from asking John out,” George concludes.

“I told you he doesn’t–” Paul begins again, but George cuts him off.

“The Elizabeth-Browning-I’m-not-worthy-of-him part? Please, Paul. You’re so full of yourself usually, you’re only making this up so you can wallow in self-pity once I’m gone. Why would you reject happiness like that? That’s so typically European of you.”

“… Who?” Paul asks.

George wonders if they went to the same school before focusing again. They don’t have time for details; George is on a mission here.

“Never mind. I don’t believe you when you say he’s too good for you. Heaven knows he’s not – you two are equally dumb.”

“I hate you,” Paul says.

“The feeling is mutual and you love it.”

“Stop eating those chocolates!”

“Only one more.”

George picks it carefully – because no, they’re not the same, each one comes from the same mould but has its own way to be deliciously coated in milk chocolate. He holds it in front of his eyes and eats it. “So,” he asks once he’s swallowed, “will you declare your ever-burning love to him?”

Paul kicks him with his foot, nearly making George drop his precious box.

“Can I be honest?” George asks.

Paul whines.

Doesn’t matter. George takes it as his clue to go on.

“Alright, McCartney, here’s what I think. You and John. need to stop hiding your feelings and embrace them instead of repeatedly dating people you don’t like because you’re scared to spoil the rest. Can’t you see the relationship you have with John right now – don’t cut me off – is only crumbles compared to what you could have? And I’m not denying crumbles are delightful, but you’re hungry. Crumbles taste better when you can eat them after the whole pie.”

“George,” Paul whispers.

His voice is _miserable_ , so miserable George briefly wonders if he’s ill.

“Your food metaphors are going to be the end of me.”

“They’re reliable.”

Truth be told, it takes a bit more convincing than that but it seems George’s metaphors have some rhetorical value. Indeed, Paul finally, _finally_ agrees. “I guess you’re right. I should tell him, I guess. You know.”

“Despite what your desperately narrow vocabulary may hint at, that’s the most sensible discourse you’ve held all day, Paulie,” George praises him.

He checks his phone. No news from Ringo, and _oh my god_ he’s made it fifteen minutes earlier compared to the time Ringo allowed him. His present best be a life-changing snog.

“Let’s go,” he says, getting on his feet.

“What – no, wait, we’re not done!” Paul says.

George sits back reluctantly.

“You’re stalling, McCartney. I give you five minutes.”

Paul pouts. “I’m not. I’d just like to know why you made me believe … you know, that the flowers were for me instead of warning me beforehand. I freaked out, you know?”

“Yes, Paul. I _know_. I saw your face.”

“And?”

“That’s exactly why I did it.”

Paul flips him the bird before getting up and fetching his jacket on his chair.

“Wait here,” he tells George before leaving the room. When he comes back a few seconds later, his hair is perfectly styled again. Not that it had moved that much, but it’s Paul. Everything will look perfect or he won’t leave the house, whether the incriminating thing is his haircut or his trainers that are so white George wonders how he does it. Maybe he just cleans them, though. That’s what George should do instead of bitching about the mud … But he’s getting sidetracked again.

_We’re leaving_ , he texts Ringo. _Five minutes before the deadline you gave me! Stay there._

He then turns on the sound so he won’t miss any update from him. When he looks at Paul again, he finds him staring at the bouquet. He’s chewing his bottom lip.

George almost gives in and tells him he understands it’s scary to make a move, before deciding against it. Paul wouldn’t like it if George began patronizing him. He offers him an encouraging smile nonetheless. “I know they look cliché,” he says, “but I really picked them especially for you. You should take them. Just in case. And if it bothers you, you can just put the blame on me afterwards.”

“Really?” Paul asks. “It’s just that I – don’t have any present. So that’s better than nothing, you know.”

And this is the type of friends George is getting ruined for. He thanks the universe for the powers of relaxation and yoga and grabs the flowers, forcing them into Paul’s hands.

“Let’s go, McCartney.”

They leave the house, Paul briefly passing his head through the living room doorway to tell his father he won’t be absent long. _As if._

The winter air is chilly. They set out, walking rapidly along the street. Paul holds the flowers so awkwardly that George feels compelled to help him. _Again_.

“Give me these, I’ll hold them for you. I’ll walk you for a while, because I’m going to see Ritchie.”

He can feel Paul relaxing as soon as he’s relieved him from his flowery-burden.

“Why do you say you bought them especially for me anyway?” Paul asks.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Tell.”

“Know anything about flower language?”

A single look at Paul is enough for him to be assured that not only Paul doesn’t but that he’s also adding that question to the ever-growing list of things that make George insane – according to him and him only, of course. The only thing that threatens George’s mental health is Paul and John’s skirting around, and that problem soon will be a memory.

“Red roses mean love. That’s simple.”

“That’s all? Everyone knows that!”

“If I’d picked pink roses, they’d have meant happiness,” George adds. “White roses would have meant you’re worthy of him – I _could_ have chosen these, now that I think of it.”

“Very interesting,” Paul says.

Sarcasm. George hates it. Well then, he’s not going to spare Paul what he really thinks.

“The absence of thorns means love at first sight,” he says, and it feels so good to finally spill it out after years of getting frustrated by Paul-and-John-wo-are-thick-as-thieves-but-not-dating-are-you-mad-Geo. And even right now, as they’re heading towards John’s goddamn house, George can picture how all of this is going to be. Paul will deny it. He will.

“Please, don’t. It’s tiring. Unlike John, I’m not near-sighted. You’re in love, that’s alright. I’m not going to judge you for excessive pining, we’re past this. I just want to help you put an end to it,” George says.

It might be blunt but he’s only telling the truth. Although he almost wishes he could drop the matter altogether right now – he’s had enough of that Lennon-McCartney drama for the day.

They stop in front of a crosswalk. George turns towards Paul as they wait for the passing cars to stop. He can almost see the cogs at work in his brain.

“Alright,” Paul finally sighs. “Give these back.”

It’s probably the biggest achievement in George’s whole life. Concurrently, it may also be Paul’s most vulnerable, honest move since he’s known him. It makes him proud, although he’ll never tell Paul – once more, the lad would be horrified to hear it. Instead, George chooses to squeeze his hand. Paul looks away and gestures towards the green light. They cross the street.

“Wanna know something else?” George offers.

Paul gives him a confused look. “There’s more?”

“Only a tiny detail. Rose petals are, indeed, edible.”

George bursts into laughter while Paul hides his head in his hands and sighs very deeply. Only a loud melody makes him stop. It’s his phone.

“Wait, Ritchie is calling me,” George says, pressing it against his ear. “Hey love, you done too?”

“Yeah. Where are you?”

“On the street. Why? Didn’t you get my text? I said I’d meet you there,” George replies.

Silence answers him.

“Ritchie?” George asks.

“I didn’t receive that one.”

_Shit._

Paul’s house is old. Sometimes the network doesn’t work. He knows it; it tricked him before. He should have remembered.

“Where are you?” he asks, mirroring Ringo’s question.

“With John.”

That doesn’t answer his question, but he understands. He and Ringo are trapped. They shouldn’t meet while still with Paul and John. The plan was to let these two meet on their own. The first to finish convincing one lovebird or another was to send them to the second lovebird’s house. They shouldn’t _all_ be outside. They’re gonna meet. _Meet_. The thought is a bit more terrifying than it should be.

“Fuck. You should leave. I’ll leave too. Just go wherever, I’ll find you,” George says as quietly as he can before hanging up.

“What’s that about?” Paul asks.

“… Ritchie’s with his aunt. I told him to leave,” George lies.

It’s a poor lie, but Paul doesn’t have time to demolish it. It falls flat on the ground all by itself as soon as they turn around the corner. In front of them are two guys George knows all too well.

Ringo. And John, of course.

John has a bouquet of flowers in his right hand, exactly the same as Paul’s. He’s also holding a chocolate box.

“Fancy seeing you here,” George tries.

No one answers him. Paul and John look properly frozen. Only their eyes are moving relentlessly from the other’s face to what he’s carrying.

All of a sudden, Paul lets the flowers fall off his hands and steps forward. Without even a look at Ringo, John passes the chocolates to Ringo and meets Paul halfway.

George stares as they kiss. He can’t believe it. It _worked_. It’s actually … over? Just like that, without a single word uttered between them? Oh, the Valentine’s Day mission was a success. Who’d have thought?

He’s perfectly happy and proud of himself until Paul and John part. Something flashes in their eyes, a glint of understanding that George has seen before but that, somehow, feels menacing at the moment. He understands why when the two turn towards them like one man. Paul opens his mouth first.

“You two.”

“Yes?”

“Leave,” John says.

“We didn’t betray any secret–” Ringo begins, but George would much rather follow John’s kind suggestion.

He grabs Ringo’s hand and tugs him away. “Run!”

They run along the streets, not really paying attention to where they’re going. It’s a silly thing to do, George knows it. As if Paul and John were about to run after them! They said so themselves; they asked them to leave. Still they’re both running, hand in hand, with wild movements. At some point, George nearly trips and Ringo’s hand is all that prevents him from meeting the ground. They keep going. They run and run until Ringo stops, forcing George to do the same.

Out of breath, he lets go of George’s hand to double over, trying to catch his breath.

“Why did we run?”

“No idea,” George pants, patting his pocket absentmindedly to check his phone hasn’t fallen in the process. He finds Ringo looking at him from his almost crouched position. His face looks so weird from there that it makes him giggle. It’s only when Ringo joins him, his breath short and mixed with coughs, that he realises his boyfriend had merely been trying to hold that back, hence the face he pulled. And sure he’d been right to do so, because between the fits of laughter and the previous lack of air in lungs, George can feel his head spinning. He can tell Ringo doesn’t fare any better.

“Stop looking at me!” he wheezes.

George only laughs more, eyes fixed on Ringo’s blue eyes. The tiniest tears slowly make their way down his face.

“George, just – _look away!_ ”

It’s Valentine’s day after all. Ringo deserves at least this, even if laughing feels so good at that moment.

“Alright,” George laughs as he turns his back to him.

Behind him, the asthmatic laugh turns into smaller giggles before subsiding completely.

“Can I turn around?” he asks.

“Not … not yet!”

George’s breathing slowly evens again. He stares at their surroundings and recognizes the alley after some time. He approximately knows where they ended up; that’s a start. Then he looks back at Ringo whose face is of an adorable shade of red. Their eyes meet but – no. He could laugh again, what with Ringo’s obvious lip-biting and his own light-headedness. But that’s when he remembers something that makes him smile triumphantly.

“We did it! They got together!” he exclaims, the realisation downing on him again.

To think that they won’t ever have to witness heavy McLennon pining ever again is exhilarating. George would certainly dance if he weren’t still struggling with his breath.

Ringo’s smile is wide and makes George even happier than before. “I almost forgot with all the sport you made me do for no reason! Congratulations, love. Your plan was great.” Ringo says, smiling back at him.

“Our plan,” George corrects him.

Ringo bows his head. “Let’s walk?” he offers. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Not quite right, but George uses it as an excuse to take his hand back in his. They set off, much slower this time but in the direction where they came from. After they’ve passed a group of kids who stare at them as if they’re crazy, Ringo speaks again.

“Geo … Do you think they’re really mad at us?”

They cross a street. George turns his head towards Ringo and winces as he sees his face. Yes, there it is, that crease between his boyfriend’s eyes, telling him Ringo is worried and feels – what, guilty? Is George reading it well?

All Ringo should be allowed to feel right now is happy. Aren’t they able to cross that obnoxious number 1 goal on his bucket list – _make that couple happen_ – thanks to their efforts?

That’s so typically Ringo, and that’s so sweet of him to worry, though. George isn’t really sure whether Ringo is extremely kind or if he, George, is just heartless when it comes to spare Paul and John’s pride.

“Do you think they’re mad?” Ringo repeats, making George realise he forgot to answer.

Although he doesn’t really have an answer. Or none that is fully satisfying. He makes them both stop under a tree and turns towards Ringo. He brushes the hair out of his eyes places his hands on his cheeks.

“They were when we left, for sure. We forced them to finally confront to their feelings. You can be sure they’ll hold us responsible for it.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t mean they’re _still_ mad, though. And even if they are, I don’t think it will last. We’re talking about Paul and John, remember?

“I guess so,” Ringo says, sounding unsure.

At that precise moment, their phones ring almost at the same time.

“Oh my,” George says dramatically. “We can’t escape them.”

Because, really. Who else could it be?

Right he is. Two texts from Paul are waiting for him. He reads them, frowns and looks up at Ringo. “What do they say?”

“It’s from John,” Ringo answers. “He says he’s grateful that I didn’t technically break my promise of never telling Paul about his crush on him. And he says it’s something he’d have been proud to do if he’d been in our shoes.”

George grins. “You bet he would. Anyway, Paul says he hates us and will never talk to me again. Also wants to know if we’re up for a double date next Valentine’s day.”

Ringo’s face lights up. “That’s great!”

George grimaces. “It’s gonna be a nightmare, but whatever you want.”

“Then we won’t wait for a whole year,” Ringo says.

George lets out a groan. Maybe making Paul and John get together at last isn’t, in fact, the end to all his problems. Which makes him think.

“Oh my god,” he exclaims suddenly, making Ringo jump next to him. “You mean it’s going to be _even worse_ from now on!”

“Umm … what do you mean?” Ringo asks, typing an answer to John’s texts.

“I mean they’re gonna be as sickeningly in love as before, plus they’re aren’t even gonna try to be discreet about it anymore?”

“I guess so, yeah,” Ringo says. “I think they’ll be _more_ in love, to be honest.”

He doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect. George wishes he could be _that much_ peace and love, but everyone has their limits, he supposes.

“It’s gonna be a nightmare,” he says.

“Maybe if we kiss every time they get on your nerves?” Ringo offers.

George snorts. “You mean you wanna kiss all day?”

Ringo giggles and George gives a light press to his hand. “Thank you though. That’s awfully sweet.”

“Maybe I’d just like to kiss you all day too,” Ringo jokes.

“I hope for you it’s so, because it’ll be the first thing I do as soon as we see the two other monsters again.”

“Only then?” Ringo asks.

_Oh, how George loves him, for real._ Every single word that comes out of his mouth is a treasure to his ears. If he wants to be fair towards Paul and John, he’s probably worse than them. He knows he’s gawking like an idiot and he just can’t stop. He shrugs, quickly putting that thought aside. Now is not the time to be fair with the other couple; now is the time to be madly in love with Ringo and enjoy the time they can spend together.

“Since it’s Valentine’s day, may I treat you with a very romantic lunch at … um, Subway?”

“I’d love that.”

Some thirty minutes later, George can’t help but think he _shouldn’t_ be so happy. He’s only in a quiet part of the dining room with a sandwich in his hands; there’s nothing special about that. And yet.

It’s not even that the sandwich is delicious.

It’s not even the joy of being done with the McLennon ordeal.

Maybe the key to all his joy lies in the way his boyfriend’s rings shine under the electrical light. That’s _not_ poetic, and yet here he finds himself, mesmerised as Ringo lifts his hands to take another bite of his sandwich. Then Ringo puts it back on the horrendous green basket and frowns at him.

“Everything alright? You’re not eating.”

Ringo’s blue eyes search his, looking for reassurance. But what could be wrong? George wonders. Everything is fine; it’s not even _too_ great to be true, which would be suspicious. No, everything is fine; it’s just that sometimes, when George realises it, he finds it almost overwhelming and spaces out for a bit. Until it gets even better because Ringo spots his spacing out.

“I just hope Paul and John are as happy as we are,” he says.

Ringo smiles. He wipes his hands on his jeans and takes George’s right hand in his.

“Oh non, that wasn’t my goal. Your sandwich’s gonna get cold because of me,” George says when he realises they’ve _both_ spaced out this time.

He shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink, still eyeing Ringo who’s smiling at him as if George were in the middle of doing something worth ending on TikTok. Which he isn’t. God, if Ringo were to film him right now, George would surely lose the entirety of his meagre amount of followers. Except Ringo, of course, who apparently likes to watch George as he’s battling with a straw. Paul and John would probably stick around as well; George has the presentiment that they’ll crave laughable, ridiculous George content more than ever in times to come. He doesn’t mind, really. He’s too happy for that.

“They can’t – Paul and John, I mean – they surely can’t be as happy as we are, even though I wish them the best,” he thinks aloud, finally bringing his attention back on his abandoned sandwich.

Ringo’s giggle echoes in George’s ears. _Music, that’s what it is._ “I’ve just remembered – you cursed them and wished they burn in hell, when was it? Two days ago?”

“That was _before_ we became their benefactors!”

Ringo giggles harder.

“I swear!” George goes on. “Since then I’ve matured a lot! For example, I’ve spent more than an hour listening to Paul insult me in numerous and imaginative ways, all the while weeping about John. And I _didn’t_ wish him anything bad during all that time – except ending up with Lennon, of course. That’s a record, right? You can’t deny it.”

He ends with his index raised menacingly to complete his speech, even though he’s struggling not to smile.

“Of course,” Ringo gives in as seriously as he can. “That’s what one would call dedication.”

“And since you _didn’t_ get my text, I’ll have you know that convincing the brat only took me one hour and a half. That’s less than the time you granted me.”

“Oh, you’re right!” Ringo exclaims, letting his sandwich wrap fall back in the basket. “I nearly forgot!”

He rummages in his bag and takes out a chocolate box, placing it on the table. “Will that do?”

George looks at the box. He recognizes very well. Its red bow is unmistakable.

“I’m sorry, I know it was meant for John but I – I said I’d give you something without thinking about it and I didn’t have time to buy you something else, since we’d agreed on no presents,” Ringo says, all in one breath.

“Don’t worry, I love these,” George says.

Ringo looks at him in disbelief.

“You do?”

“Sure thing. Ate half of Paul’s box this morning. It seems no one likes this brand except me,” George shrugs.

Ringo finally smiles. “It’s not surprising. They’re not edible, these ones. I thought you’d bought the boxes as a joke.”

“The chocolates and I are feeling very much left down here. You, of all people! You’re just like the others,” George says, stroking the red bow as if it could be hurt from what it has heard.

“At least … You’re not disappointed then?” Ringo asks.

“Well …” George trails off. “In fact, I wasn’t thinking at all about getting chocolates or flowers or whatever when I was rushing Paul.”

Ringo listens intently.

“I hoped you’d give me another kind of present. Like a kiss?”

A hand on his cheek. Ringo leans forward, giving him a little peck.

“That doesn’t count!” George exclaims as Ringo sits back in his chair. All it prompts Ringo to do is give him another featherlike kiss.

“We could finish eating, get out of here and head back to yours?” Ringo offers. “And then I’ll kiss you all you like.”

“Alright,” George says.

He shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and stands up, not forgetting his side present on the table.

Ringo shakes his head just for the show but eagerly takes their empty trails as he stands too. “You’re incredible.”

“But you’ll still kiss me all afternoon, right?”

“Of course I will. If you don’t eat any of those chocolates.”

George pouts before taking Ringo’s arm. He really, really loves Valentine’s day.


End file.
